


The Gold Secret

by AdaMarina



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Donald is kind of a bamf in this AU, Fantasy medieval-esque AU, Good duckdad, Huey Dewey and Louie reflect Della Scrooge and Donald, If you understand what I mean you get a cookie, There's also magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:47:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaMarina/pseuds/AdaMarina
Summary: Not everything is as it seems in the kingdom, three ducklings find out when their little town of Duckburg is attacked during the king's procession.Their uncle Donald isn't all he seems, either.





	The Gold Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I was sitting on this for a while, unsure if I wanted to post it here. I posted it to Tumblr, but a little further debate and I figured, maybe y'all here would enjoy this too.
> 
> I had been watching something when I was suddenly hit with an idea, and somehow I slipped and made a fantasy medieval-esque AU. This is a oneshot based in said AU.
> 
> If you want, take it as an extra Halloween story.
> 
> (Extra note, when I posted it to tumblr it was unedited but now I've gone through and fixed the mistakes I caught)

The sun was shining brightly upon the thriving kingdom, but the small duckling was shadowed by the crowd standing by the cobbled street, loudly and excitedly chattering amongst themselves so the steady _clop clop clop_ of hooves barely reached through.

He peeked between legs towards the procession, pulling his green cloak tighter around his head. The king wasn’t visible, of course, but he quickly found the glittering golden carriage with the beautiful pepper-speckled horses and the young red-haired coachman riding proudly down Main Street.

“Louie,” he heard a voice hiss, “get back.”

Sighing, Louie stepped back beside his brothers- one in a matching blue cloak and the other in matching red- and looked up at his uncle, who wore a cloak of pure black.

“Yes, Uncle Donald,” he agreed tiredly. It was so boring, he thought, to listen to a procession he couldn’t see. To listen to the people around them awwing at the sight and cheering for their king, who had freed them all from the rule of a dark queen. Louie wanted to see it, but he knew his uncle didn’t want them to _be_ seen.

Had they not needed to go to market that day, Louie was sure Uncle Donald would have kept them inside the house, far away from the procession.

The crowd was a mixed sight- some gowns and suits, some patchwork dresses and rags, and many wore cloaks, like Louie’s family, to protect themselves from the sun.

Louie sometimes felt like his cloak was less to protect him from the sun and moreso to keep his face in shadows. After all, Uncle Donald never made them wear the cloaks in their walled-in garden at home, and it received just as much sun as the roads of the town.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Uncle Donald murmured, his voice barely audible under the excitement of the crowd, and he took Huey’s hand in one of his own and Dewey’s with his other. He nodded for Louie to take Huey’s hand, and obediently the duckling did, albeit not without mumbled complaints.

They made their way through the crowd, slipping through gaps and lightly pushing people out of the way with a muttered apology or excuse me. No one seemed to give them a second glance, their attention fastened to their hermit king’s procession.

When there was a golden carriage going through town, who cared about four little peasants?

The thought depressed Louie and he turned his gaze to the ground. _At least,_ he thought to himself, _when we get home I can practice that levitation spell more. Dewey wants to float and Uncle Donald doesn’t have to know._

The thought of his secret caused a small smile to spread across his face as he allowed his brother and uncle to lead him through the crowd. Yes, the work and the training and schooling and life as a peasant, in general, was made tolerable by one little fact; Louie could do magic.

He hadn’t told Uncle Donald of course. Louie was sure Uncle Donald would accept him for it, but a little part of Louie couldn’t help but think, _what if he turns me out?_ Because Uncle Donald was raised by someone who lived under the dark queen’s rule- a sorceress. What if he condemned Louie for being like her? Though he and his brothers were all certain Uncle Donald would love and accept him as he was, he couldn’t shake the fear.

So he never said anything, keeping his magic to himself and his brothers. Huey had the brains and Dewey had the brawn. The magic, Louie thought somewhat smugly, was all his own.

He settled himself into these thoughts... right in time to feel hands grabbing him.

Without thinking he shrieked, _“Uncle Donald!”_ and at the same time Huey screamed for Louie, as Louie was suddenly snatched away from Huey’s grasp.

“Louie!” he heard Uncle Donald and Dewey both yell, their voices almost drowned out by a sudden rise in noise from the crowd.

Then whoever had him was running, and the crowd was running, and he couldn’t see Uncle Donald anymore and _arrows were flying and people with swords were swooping in_ and Louie realized with horror that while he was being abducted the city was being _attacked._

Suddenly instinct kicked in and he began thrashing against the hand holding him. “Let me go!” he shrieked, kicking and punching at his captor, but his little hands and little feet did almost nothing to the dog whose laugh seemed to reverberate in Louie’s mind. The flash of the sun reflecting off of a blade in the dog’s other hand caught Louie’s attention, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

_Think quick, Louie!_ His eyes darted around, wide and filled with terror, and he could swear inside the crowd he could hear Uncle Donald screaming his name but he couldn’t see the black-cloaked figure of his uncle anywhere. _Huey could figure a plan, Dewey could fight, and you can talk but there’s no time to talk to someone who’s probably gonna sell you into slavery! Magic! Use magic! That blasting spell! You blew up a tree with it just last week! Weaker, just enough to escape!_

Screwing his eyes shut Louie focused on that feeling deep in his chest, drawing it towards the surface. Then he shoved outwards, towards his captor, and the dog suddenly dropped him as he was hit by the shockwave and Louie felt himself blasted towards an alley.

He hit the ground a little too hard and the wind left him, and he looked up through bleary, tearing eyes as the dog scrambled up to his feet in the street, whirling around to face him with a snarl, a vile word falling from his lips as he focused entirely on Louie.

The crowd was thinner now, and Louie felt himself desperately wanting his uncle.

The dog approached and Louie again tried to pull forwards that feeling in his chest, but everything hurt- he hit the ground wrong, he knew, he hadn’t broken his fall at all and _it hurt so bad_ and pulling at the warmth in his core just made everything hurt more and _I want Uncle Donald please please_ and the dog just came closer-

The blade lifted as the dog rushed forwards-

_Why can’t I move why can’t I breathe why can’t I I I’m just a kid please Uncle Donald-_

The blade swung downwards-

_I’m too young to die I don’t want to die why can’t I look away please please-_

The blade hit metal.

Louie stared up in shock at the fluttering black cloak and the silver sword held in his savior’s hand. Shock not just because someone had intercepted the blade.

Shock because _Uncle Donald intercepted._

Louie couldn’t see his uncle’s face but the hood had fallen back, revealing Uncle Donald’s messy feathers. He could imagine the burning fury in his temperamental uncle’s eyes as he stared Louie’s attacker down, his stance strong and head held high and _since when does Uncle Donald know how to use a sword?_

“Don’t,” Uncle Donald snarled in that unmistakable voice of his, “you _ever_ touch one of my boys again!”

Then the sound of metal sliding against metal reached Louie’s ears as Uncle Donald almost effortlessly disarmed his attacker before planting a hard kick right into the dog’s chest, sending him falling back onto the street breathlessly.

Louie, for just a moment, could have sworn he’d seen a spark, a wave of energy, when Uncle Donald kicked, but it was gone before he could verify what he thought he saw. At the very least, he knew as he looked towards the dog, his attacker would have heavily bruised, if not broken, ribs.

Then Uncle Donald had his hand and was pulling him to his feet, looking at him with concern. He gave Louie a quick look-over before deciding that he was, thankfully, not broken, and his concern morphed into... something Louie could hardly read. A strong look- stronger than he usually had, a look that didn’t just say _we’re gonna get through this_ but a look that said _we’re gonna get through this and I’m gonna kill them all for harming you._

In that moment Louie didn’t recognize his uncle.

“Come on, Louie,” Uncle Donald commanded and Louie found himself completely incapable of even _trying_ to argue. So he just nodded, swallowing past the strange lump in his throat, past the knot in his chest, past the burning, churning ache in his stomach.

But then Louie noticed two dogs rushing at Uncle Donald’s back and suddenly found his voice. “Uncle Donald-!” he managed to croak, but it was enough; his uncle noticed his gaze, the fear on his face, and released Louie’s arm, whipping around in time to block the new foes’ attacks.

Uncle Donald kept Louie behind him but more dogs came and Louie realized all around them people were fighting-

Buildings were burning-

People lay on the ground bleeding-

Somewhere a siren wailed-

People were fighting-

_Uncle Donald is fighting-_

But many of the dogs seemed to zero in on Uncle Donald and Louie knew, with growing horror, that his uncle couldn’t hold them off forever. Three versus one- four versus one- five. It wasn’t fair, and Louie was amazed that Uncle Donald managed to defend himself at all.

A blade nicked him. Another sliced through his cloak. Louie watched a feather be sheared uncomfortably close to Uncle Donald’s head. And then the blow Louie was certain Uncle Donald could not defend against-

Then a new sword joined, protecting Uncle Donald from a fatal blow and Louie’s heart jumpstarted as he realized it was down to three dogs and there was an extra duck in the fray-

_It’s the king._

“Get the child tae the others,” the king, whose accent clearly hailed from another realm, commanded of Uncle Donald. Louie couldn’t see the silent look that passed between his uncle and the king, but suddenly Uncle Donald was picking Louie up with one hand while the king, without missing a beat, continued to deal with the attackers.

Louie yelped but clung to Uncle Donald as he began running back down the street, Louie held to his side in one arm and his sword clutched tightly in his other hand. Louie looked back at the king, who seemed to be joined by his knights in fighting- more knights appeared, he noticed, taking on the town’s attackers, and he seemed to be in no immediate danger, his skills clearly outclassing his enemies’.

“Donald!” he heard an unfamiliar voice call and looked towards Uncle Donald’s other side. He barely register what he was seeing before a hand grabbed his uncle’s shoulder, pulling them into a glittering, golden carriage.

The two crashed to the floor, Uncle Donald’s sword skittering harmlessly to the other side.

“Uncle Donald!”

“Louie!”

Louie looked up at his brothers, each peering down at him from the safety of the satin seats.

“Oh thank god,” Louie cried, and suddenly realized that he was breathing hard- tears ran down his face and his heart beat painfully, threatening to tear out his ribcage.

_I almost died._

He scrambled up from the floor and threw himself into his oldest triplet’s waiting arms, feeling a sob rising in his chest. He hated crying- it was so... childish. But he couldn’t help it, not as the gravity of the situation finally slammed into him.

_We almost died._

“It’s okay,” Huey whispered comfortingly, holding him and rubbing gentle circles on his back. He felt Dewey’s hand slide through the thick tuft of feathers on his head. “We’re okay.”

_Uncle Donald and I almost died._

Louie opened his eyes and peered back at his uncle, who was sliding a sword into a sheath on his hip, hidden under his ripped cloak. Looking at him from the front Louie realized Uncle Donald took more hits than he had realized, the shirt he always wore beneath the cloak not only visible but visibly torn and bloody. His arms also had a deep gash in it, as though he had blocked a blunt sword with his arm instead of his blade.

Then Uncle Donald was sitting next to them and Louie slipped away from his brothers, pulling himself into Uncle Donald’s lap and burying his face in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Donald!”

He felt his uncle’s arms circle around him, a gentle cooing filling his ears. “It wasn’t your fault,” Uncle Donald assured him. “You did a good job, getting away from them.”

“B-but you got hurt,” Louie pointed out between rough breaths. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and was trembling uncontrollably, tears forcing their way out of his eyes and burning all the way down- was this panic, he wondered? Huey got panic attacks occasionally. He wondered if this was how Huey felt during them.

Huey and Dewey pressed themselves on either side of Uncle Donald and Louie, their hands finding their ways to Louie’s shoulders. Uncle Donald didn’t say anything, instead humming a quiet tune- one that was familiar to Louie- and he felt himself calming down.

_He’s safe._

_They’re safe._

_I’m safe._

_We’re all safe._

Slowly his trembling stilled and his crying stopped. His breaths stopped hitching, and though his throat felt like it was on fire he found himself able to pull in enough oxygen. Still, he stayed against his uncle, listening to him hum and focusing on the feeling of familiar, loving hands running through his hair.

After a few minutes he pulled away, wiping his eyes.

“Better?” Uncle Donald asked gently, keeping hold of him despite Louie’s attempt to slip away.

“Y-yeah,” Louie said with a shuddering breath. “Man, that was uncool.”

Dewey laughed uneasily. “To say the least,” he agreed, scooting over to make room for Louie on the seat. Uncle Donald allowed Louie to slip down between himself and Dewey. “But we’re okay.”

“Uncle Donald,” Huey started, “you need a medic.”

Before any of them could respond or even acknowledge that yes, Uncle Donald did, in fact, need medical attention, someone burst into the carriage.

“-o go go, Launchpad, we need tae be back at the castle _immediately!”_

Louie’s gaze snapped over to the king, eyes wide. The king’s hat- _a tophat,_ he realized, _not a crown-_ was crooked but relatively unharmed, but a cut on the duck’s cheek and a rip in his robe told Louie that the monarch did not escape the fight quite as unscathed as Louie and his brothers did.

“Beakley,” the king called to someone outside the carriage, “make sure nae a soul gets close tae this 'ere carriage, aye?” Whatever the response was, was lost to the wind as the carriage began racing down the street.

The king threw the lock on the door and turned to look at them, seeming unsurprised to see his carriage with four extra ducks in it. “Well, lads,” the king started, dropping down on the seat across from them, “looks like them Beagle Boys still be up tae no good, ey?”

“Yeah,” Uncle Donald agreed with a sigh. “I thought they’d given up a few years ago, but I think they multiplied since then!”

“It seems so, Donald,” the king said, nodding thoughtfully. “There were a few I did nae recognize this time around.”

“Uncle Donald,” Huey whispered, his voice nearly inaudible over the sound of the carriage’s wheels on the cobble below.

“Maybe more were adopted?” Uncle Donald suggested, receiving a disbelieving snort from the monarch.

“Ma Beagle does nae do adoption, lad,” he stated, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Except _maybe_ that one time, but ye ken, there's an exception tae every rule." His eyes scanned over Uncle Donald and the ducklings, as if studying them, and Louie felt self conscious as stern eyes caught him staring so quickly glanced aside.

“Uncle Donald,” Huey repeated even quieter, this time tugging on Uncle Donald’s cloak to emphasize his urgency.

Uncle Donald looked down at Huey. “Yes, Huey?”

_“Why are you talking so casually with the king?!”_ Huey almost hissed, eyes wide with worry and confusion. Louie looked back towards the duck in front of them, remembering the way he had rushed into the fight and saved Uncle Donald’s life.

_He called him by name,_ he thought as Uncle Donald just sighed. The older duck looked somewhat amused by it all, however, clearly unperturbed by Uncle Donald's apparent familiarity.

“I planned to tell you boys this when you turned fifteen,” Uncle Donald started, sounding tired and much older than he was, “but news’ll spread all over the kingdom now that we’ve been seen _and_ recognized.”

Louie looked back at Uncle Donald, confused and unsure what that was supposed to mean. “What is it, Uncle Donald?” he asked, glancing between the older ducks.

Uncle Donald rubbed his forehead, as if a headache had sprung upon him. Louie wouldn’t be surprised if one had; a pretty large bruise was starting to form near his left temple.

“Huey, Dewey, Louie, meet Scrooge McDuck.”

“Hi,” Dewey greeted happily, his excitement over meeting _the king_ barely suppressed. Huey seemed unable to say anything at all while Louie gave him a slight, nervous wave, a million thoughts crossing his mind at the same time.

_Why does Uncle Donald know the king?_ he wondered quietly, watching as King Scrooge gave them a polite nod. Amusement seemed to dance in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he seemed to wait for further explanation from the younger adult. _How does Uncle Donald know him?_

It made no sense to him that a peasant like his uncle would know a king like Scrooge. Looking up at his uncle, he waited, somewhat impatiently, for an explanation. He didn’t have to wait long, though, as Uncle Donald, with just a moment of hesitation, finished with possibly the last thing Louie and his brothers expected to hear;

“He’s our uncle.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rather than a falling out like in canon, the triplets were raised unaware Scrooge was their uncle for different reasons. You can probably guess them, I'm sure.
> 
> Gladstone and Webby both play pretty big parts in the AU itself, they just don't show up here as this is mainly about the triplets (especially Louie), Donald and Scrooge.


End file.
